


Clint Barton's Guilty Pleasure

by RogerTaylorCanRawMe



Series: Record Store [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 21:05:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15033302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogerTaylorCanRawMe/pseuds/RogerTaylorCanRawMe
Summary: Clint and Natasha visit your record store in search of some very special vinyl.





	Clint Barton's Guilty Pleasure

You were sure they were a couple. Walking side by side, heads down, shades on, sipping away at their iced coffees. You were sure they were about to rob you. 

They parted ways around the chart album aisle, the man lingering around there, and the woman striding towards the cash desk. She was menacing up until she spoke. “Hi, would you be able to help me with something?” She took off her sunglasses and leaned on the desk. 

“Sure, what can I help you with?”

“I was just searching for some great, female fronted bands,” she explained, running a slender hand through her flame red hair. “I’m really into stuff like Heart, Hole, Bikini Kill, even a little Fleetwood Mac. Think you know anything similar?”

Right off the bat, just one band came to mind. “Halestorm are pretty good, we’ve got a couple of their records in stock too. But I can let you listen to some of their stuff before you buy anything.”

“Not at all, that’s part of the fun of record shopping.”

“True, I definitely think if you’re a big Heart fan, you’ll like ‘em. So what’s the deal with you and your friend?” you asked, catching her partner looking around him surreptitiously. 

“Oh, Clint’s a big Taylor Swift fan. It’s a big secret.”

“Right,” you said, cocking an eyebrow. 

“Everything’s a mission with him. Even buying a couple of her records,” she continued, her friend closing in, a stack of albums tucked into the crook of his arm.

He looked left and then to the right, making sure no one was watching. Then he gently placed the records on the desk for you to ring them up.

“You a big Swifty?” you asked Clint.

He looked startled. “No, they’re for my, uh, daughter. For my daughter.”

The woman side eyed him. “We don’t have a daughter.”

“Nat!” he whined. 

“Clint wanted to buy these because he wants to admire the liner notes,” she said, crossing her arms, “he’s obsessed.”

“She’s a pop culture icon, Natasha, she’s this generation’s Michael Jackson.”

The woman turned to face Clint, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t you dare.”

In that moment, you swore Clint was praying for the ground to swallow him up. He was mortified.


End file.
